


Night, Books, and  Transformations

by ChainSmokesPens



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dinner, Flash Fic, Romance, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:02:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28552056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChainSmokesPens/pseuds/ChainSmokesPens
Summary: Prompt: [WP] Dr. Jekyll goes on a date with a lycanthrope.





	Night, Books, and  Transformations

The night was dark, heavy clouds cloaking the moon and stars in the London sky.  
Henry tapped his foot, drummed his fingers, and checks his watch for the third time in the past ten minutes. He stared out the window, not knowing the direction she would come front, yet hoping to catch a glimpse of her as she was walking towards the restaurant. He bit the inside of his cheek; a self-imposed punishment. While he’d only arrived five minutes prior, the less savory aspects of his personality kept patience from him. He pulled his cigarette from the ashtray on the table and took a long drag, sating his animal desires momentarily.  
With all of the French restaurants in the city, did she lose track of which one they were supposed to meet at? Did she take a nap earlier this afternoon and not wake up yet? Did she think it too odd to be asked on a date by someone she’d met that day at a library and decide to not show up? Was she caught up reading the book and lost track of time? The clouds were thick, was it going to rain? Did she get approached by muggers on her way from her home? Or worse?  
Henry’s smoke trembled in his hand.  
“Good evening.” He thought it was a waitress and turned, ready to give her a verbal lashing for breaking his concentration. Instead, he saw his date. He immediately and deliberately softened his expression as he looked her over.  
The woman was lean and pale, long raven hair framed her youthful face. Henry estimated she was about seven years younger than him. Her blouse was white, the sleeves laced like a spider’s webbing along her arms. Her dress was long, black, and held tightly to her long legs. The shawl she wore was woolen and a blue so seep it could’ve been mistaken for black. Her thin hands held her purse firmly in front of her, behind it the book she’d checked out at the library that morning when he’d met her.  
He placed his cigarette back on the tray and stood up to greet her. “Guadalupe Villalobos?” he asked, measuredly extending his hand.  
She took it. “Call me Lupe. Dr. Henry Jekyll?”  
“The same.” He rushed over to her side of the table, pulling her chair out for her. “Please have a seat.”  
She smiled and accepted.  
On the short trip around the table back to his seat, Henry chastised himself a hundred times. Was it too old-fashioned for him to pull out her seat? Was her smile a sign of approval or discomfort? Would it be excessive to say she looked beautiful? Surely she knew. What about him? Was a burgundy shirt with an olive vest an odd combination? Did he miss a spot when ironing his slacks; were these the pair that had the oil stain on the heel? Was ten minutes long enough to properly polish his shoes?  
“You look handsome,” she said as he sat down, her cobalt lips curling into a smile.  
The weight left his shoulders and he responded, “Thank you. You look lovely, yourself.”  
Was lovely the best word to use? Considering he’d just met her today, was ‘love’ a word he wanted to bring up in any capacity?  
He fought his thoughts off and gestured towards her glasses? “Wine? Water?”  
“One for each.” As her pulled the bottled from their ice bath, she continued talking. “How was your afternoon?”  
Pouring, almost too carefully, it be the end of the date should the red wine stain on the white tablecloth, Henry replied, “It was well.” Not an adequate response. “I had fewer appointments today than I usually do. And those that I did have went well?”  
“I see,” Lupe mused. “You said you were a doctor, so what does things going well entail? A successful surgery? The discovery of a new strain of disease? Or a new cure?”  
Discovering diseases and cures? Did this woman really have such high expectations of him? How were these fair standards for a person she’d just met today? He struggled to conceal the trembling of his hands as he deposited the wine bottle and reached for the water.  
He gave a polite, near-robotic chuckle. “No, no. In my line of work, a day going well generally means a patient taking their medicine as I’ve instructed or eating a proper diet.” Or not waking up as another person, he kept to himself. “The less time I spend arguing with people over how to save their lives, the more time I can spend reading in the afternoon.”  
Was it too much to say he saved their lives? Was being a doctor really saving people’s lives or what it more akin to carpentry, checking the vital spots of a structure to make sure it remained upright for the foreseeable future?  
“Read anything interesting?”  
“Medical journals mostly. Though when I get bored with those I tend to turn to the newspaper or odd novel.” Henry suddenly felt that he was talking too much and posed her a question instead. “Did you have the time to get to your book today?”  
Lupe pulled her wine to her lips and took a deep drink. Henry watched, nearly hypnotized, as her neck muscles work her wine down. He began to drink himself, hiding his staring. She put the glass down on the table. “I finished it.”  
“Oh,” he said, pulling his lips from his glass, “would you like more wine?” He pulled it from its bath and began pouring it again.  
“Thank you,” she said, accepting his offer, “but I meant that I’d finished the book.”  
The shocked spasm of his arms nearly made him drop the bottle. She’d finished a six-hundred-page book in one afternoon?  
She pulled it from her lap and placed it on the table, careful not to deposit it on the new splotches of wine. She placed Nyctophila on the table, the book’s pitch leather accenting her milky hands and blue-painted nails. Her fingers traced the cover affectionately.  
“Yes. I’d heard about it from a friend of mine at the university and decided to give it a read. Once I picked it up, I couldn’t put it down.”  
“Oh really?” Why did it take him a full week to get through the book the first time he’d read it? Why’d he only read it three years ago, as opposed to when he was her age, or younger? Henry kept his arms from shaking, but couldn’t conceal the tapping of his foot.  
Lupe didn’t seem to notice, her eyes fixated on the clouded night sky out the window. “Yes. I really enjoyed the message.”  
“The themes of a lack of control, of surrender to the ever-growing darkness around us?” Within us? he thought.  
“No.” She didn’t turn back from the window. “Searching through the despair the darkness brings to find new strength.”  
Henry’s tapping stopped. “Pardon?”  
Lupe fixed her attention back on him, giving him a toothy smile. “It was all about hope. And I’m a bit soft for things like that.”  
As their waitress made her way to the table, Henry responded, “Yeah. Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> There was definitely something deeper that could have happened here. I'm sure that's what the original prompter was searching for. And given the word limitations I set for myself, I may have just barely reached it.


End file.
